Behind Your Eyes
by International08
Summary: Secrets are revealed. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

"Why, Castle?" She's nearly screaming now, pain and fury racing through her veins like fire. "Why would you keep this from me, go behind my back like this? I thought you said you loved me!"

She realizes as soon as those last words are out that she could have said nothing worse. He's silent for a moment, and so is she. When he does speak, his words are choked and disbelieving.

"You knew?"

She can only nod, still struck dumb by her own unintentional confession. Gone is the pleading in his eyes for her to understand, to let him explain his actions. It's replaced with hurt and distrust, the wary look of a wounded animal just waiting to be put out of its misery.

"How long, Kate?" he asks, voice low and scratchy. "How long have you been lying to me?"

Her own sense of betrayal fades when faced with his. She owes him this much, owes him the truth. She can see that now.

"Since I woke up in the hospital. I never forgot."

He reels back as if shot, stumbling for a moment and then sinking into his chair. His eyes close as his head drops into his hands, elbows braced on the desktop.

She can barely make it out when he speaks again, a single devastating word.

"Why?"

And that's the question, isn't it?

He's been unfailingly patient with her, ready to help when asked, willing to step aside when needed. He hasn't pushed. She told him there was a wall, and he has stayed on his side of it, even when opportunities to cross have presented themselves. Would he have acted differently if he knew that she remembered?

"I...I don't know."

The anguish written in every line of his face when he raises it from his hands makes him look older. She's had a hard time believing before that he has an eighteen-year-old daughter. But now...now she sees his age. This is what working with her - loving her - has done to him. Peter Pan has grown up.

"I wouldn't have left," he says softly.

It's not what she expected to hear. She expected rage and accusations of cowardice. Not this quiet resignation that seems to have overtaken him.

"What?"

"I wouldn't have left," he repeats. "I assume that's the reason you didn't tell me. Because you don't feel the same way but you liked working with me and didn't want me to leave the precinct. We do make a good team."

It's not an unreasonable assumption, but it's wrong. Dead wrong, and she needs to correct it.

"As long as you're alive and happy, I can deal," he says, his eyes radiating sincerity now along with the hurt. "I just wish you'd told me so I could move on."

Her heart skips a beat.

"Move on?" she whispers. "But..."

He pushes a hand in front of him before she can finish, a gesture of 'hear me out.'

"Not in the professional sense. Just the personal. I'll stick around the precinct if you want."

A lump rises in her throat as she looks at him, and she can barely speak.

"Castle, I don't..."

He cuts her off again, standing from behind his desk and lifting a hand to her shoulder.

"No, I'm sure you don't. Not anymore. But Kate? Can you just...just forgive me for this?"

He gestures behind him at his storyboard. The storyboard that no longer maps one of his books but her mother's case and her own shooting instead.

It had been nearing ten o'clock when she'd shown up at his door, eager to discuss a theory on their current case. He had done it to her often enough, and she'd figured it was time to return the favor. Alexis had let her in, telling the detective that Castle was in his office before disappearing up the stairs.

She'd expected him to be writing, or even dozing in his chair. She hadn't expected to find him staring intently at a giant screen with her picture in the center.

"Kate, please," he says, breaking her from her contemplations. "I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you safe."

"Safe?" she echoes, feeling more lost than she's felt since she discovered that her mentor was the third cop.

He nods.

"A man called me. He told me the captain had sent him some files, files that would damage important people. They were meant to keep Montgomery's family safe, along with you. But only if you backed off from the case. So I pushed you to let it go, at least for a bit. But I kept searching."

She's horrified, and she knows it shows on her face when he cringes and begins apologizing again.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should have just told you. I was just so terrified that you'd run at it headlong and get yourself killed, and I couldn't bear the thought of that."

"Castle, you can't..."

He cuts her off again, and she feels her ire rising. Why won't he just shut up and listen for once?

"I can't make those decisions for you, I know. But I couldn't just stand by and let them kill you."

"Castle!"

The sheer volume of his name silences him.

"You should have told me," she says, more quietly now, holding up a hand to stall his continued explanations and apologies.

"But you," she starts and has to swallow past the tightness in her throat. "You can't chase this either. Your family...Alexis..."

The eyes that dropped while she spoke jump back to meet hers at his daughter's name.

"If they find out you're looking into the case, even if I'm not, do you honestly think they'll hesitate to kill you?"

His eyes harden.

"Do you honestly think I haven't considered that?"

That - that more than anything else - is what scares her. She knows that he is devoted to his daughter. It's one of the few things that softened her toward him in the beginning.

"Then what..."

He's been pacing for the last minute or two, but now he stops in front of her, his voice resolute when he speaks.

"We can't live with the shadow of this thing hanging over us. Any of us. It has to end."

She's the one pleading now, reaching out to grip his bicep, to still him before he resumes his pacing.

"Not with you dead, Castle. Not with Alexis having to deal with the grief I know so well."

He glances down at her hand, and she releases his arm, only to bring her fingers up to brush his jaw.

"Not," she whispers hoarsely, "not with me losing someone else I love."

* * *

><p>If you let your feelings go, dear<br>It'll scare you what you'll find  
>I find them on your street, dear<br>And you're always on my mind

No one needs to know  
>That you let me in tonight<br>That you let me see the world behind your eyes

-Jon Foreman, "Behind Your Eyes"


	2. Chapter 2

Her name escapes his lips on a breath. Her name - and nothing more.

Kate's eyes close, waiting for a response, any response beyond the vague ambiguity of her whispered name. But none comes. He doesn't speak. He doesn't step away.

And she's scared, petrified. Maybe he's changed his mind. Maybe after everything she's put him through over the last months, after pushing him away and pulling him back and surely confusing him to the point that he doesn't know which way is up, maybe he's decided she's not worth it and he's trying to think of a way to let her down gently.

She nearly startles when she feels his lips against her forehead. But it's the kiss of a friend, the comforting kiss of a father, and that's not what she wants.

Her hand moves from his cheek down to his broad chest, ready to push him away, ready to end this humiliation, this rejection. But then his own hand covers hers, enveloping it in a warm grasp, holding it over his heart.

"You love me?"

The words are spoken with such timidity, such apprehension. She's not used to that in this man. This man who never follows orders, who rushes in where angels fear to tread. He is brash and bold and confident and cocky. And yet so fearful when it comes to her.

She opens her eyes to meet his. There's a wariness still in his deep blue gaze, but hope finds a home there too.

She nods, not trusting her voice. His warm exhale washes over her, his breath smelling of spearmint and coffee. He teases her sometimes about her caffeine intake, but he matches her cup for cup.

"Kate," he whispers again, his voice desperate and needy as he leans down to press his forehead to hers. It's an intimate gesture, this act of being close enough to share the air they require to survive.

"I love you," she murmurs. "So much it scares me. I cannot lose you."

One hand tightens over hers on his chest even as his other hand slides around her shoulders, crushing her into his body.

When he says her name again, it's muffled by her hair. His nose brushes her ear and she hears a quick hitch in his breathing, almost a hiccup.

"You won't," he husks into her ear and then she feels the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows to clear his throat. "You won't lose me."

She shakes her head, bumping her cheek against his before she pulls back to see his face.

"You said it yourself. Everyone associated with this case is dead. They're all gone."

Like that night in her apartment, before he convinced her to step back, the thought paralyzes her. She feels the tears well up, powerless to stop them. But unlike that night, she can't hold him at arm's length this time.

He lets go of her hand to wrap both arms around her, pulling her in tight, so close that she can tell where curves meet planes, how their bodies fit together, his broad frame and her own lithe figure.

"We're not," he whispers. "You and I...we're still here, together."

Her face is tucked into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, flesh against flesh, the wetness in her eyes moistening the skin over his collarbone.

"Whatever you want," he's rumbling into her ear, over and over and over. "Whatever you want to do, I'll do it. We chase this together or we let it go together. Whatever you want, Kate."

Part of her is still furious with him for breaking her trust, for going behind her back, for not having enough faith in her to do this _with _her. Another part recognizes that he is right. That she was spiraling out of control, lashing out at shadows, and that she would have gotten herself killed if he hadn't pulled her back from the precipice.

It's a battle with him, always, and even when they're on the same side, they seem to fight against each other. But she's tired, and she's scared, and she knows deep down that she can't do this without him anymore.

So maybe it's time to stop fighting. Maybe it's time to stop pushing him away and let him hold her as he is now. Maybe it's time to let him in.

"I'm still mad at you," she whispers against his skin, and he lets out a sound that could be either sob or laugh, she can't tell.

"Me too," he mutters, his lips pressed to her temple. "At both of us."

She is too. She wonders sometimes how she runs bravely into danger every day and yet hides from the man who would never try to hurt her. But she knows. She knows that every man she's truly trusted since her mother was murdered has betrayed her at some point.

First her father with his drinking, too lost in his own grief to see his daughter's needs. Then Mike Royce, tempted and tainted by greed. And her captain too, driven by the demons of the past, trying and failing to make amends. She'd forgiven him that night in the hangar, but it still hurts.

And this hurts. Castle has wounded her in the past, betrayed her trust first by looking into her mother's case and now by looking into it again behind her back. But it's not greed or shame or self-absorption in his case. And maybe that's what makes the difference. Why she can be so angry at him and still want to be here in his arms.

Because even though it hurts, he's done it for the right reasons, believing that he was acting in her best interests. To protect her. To keep her alive. To give her time to build back her strength.

"I need you," she says, her voice so low it's barely audible to her own ears. "I can't do this without you."

But he hears her, as he always does, and his answering words stir up both courage and dread within every cell of her body.

"I'm with you every step of the way."

* * *

><p>I want to see us work, dear<br>To reach the other side  
>My treachery is love, dear<br>We're on both ends of the fight

We're fighting for ourselves  
>We're fighting for our lives<br>Would you let me see the world behind your eyes?

-Jon Foreman, "Behind Your Eyes"


	3. Chapter 3

"I'll tell you everything," he says, pulling back from her. He's still touching her though, strong hands still grasping her arms.

She shakes her head.

"No."

His eyebrows shoot up.

"But..."

She presses a finger against his lips, quieting him, if only for a moment.

"I can't do this without you. I can't let go unless you give me something else to hold onto."

"Kate..." he whispers breathlessly.

"I don't know who I am without this, Castle. Solving her case, finding justice for my mom...it's been my driving force for the past thirteen years. But I can't..."

He lifts a hand when she trails off, brushes his thumb across her cheek, under her eye, then moves up, smoothing the furrow in her brow.

"You can't?"

She takes a deep breath.

"I can't go on like this, living in the shadow of her death. Not when everyone I care about gets dragged down with me."

She shrugs.

"If it were just me..."

Something flashes in his eyes, a mix of anger and hurt. Too much of what she's seen already tonight.

"If it were just you, what?"

She lifts both hands to his chest, not to push him away, not this time. Just for steadiness. Just to feel his heartbeat under her palm.

"If it were just me, and my father wasn't still around...if it were just me and I was alone, I would chase this thing until the end. Until I ended it or it ended me."

The depth of sorrow in his eyes is nearly her undoing. But he needs to know what he does to her, what he gives to her.

"But my father is still here. And even if he weren't, I wouldn't be alone. I have the boys and Lanie. I have you. And that changes everything."

His hands slide up from her arms to cup either side of her neck, fingers delving into the curls at her nape, his warmth tingling along her nerves.

"Katherine Beckett," he says softly. "Regardless of who you have that cares about you - and there are plenty who do - the world would be a darker place without you in it."

She forgets sometimes that he's a writer. Mostly these days he's her partner or the man she loves or both. She forgets how he makes his living. But when it counts, he always has the words for her.

They've cut her to the bone in the past, pointing out hypocrisies and flaws. But they've also given her strength, pushing her forward. She still hasn't told him how his words touched her after her mother's death. How the justice in his books gave her hope.

But he's not just a writer or her partner or even the man she loves. He's a father, and a son. People depend on him. And if anything happens to him...

She knows herself. She told him before that she could fall down the rabbit hole, that she had to step away the way an alcoholic would from the bottle. She knows how easy it would be to dive back in, to spend hours, days, an entire lifetime here in front of this board or in front of the shutters in her own apartment.

She reaches up to cover his hands with hers, pulling them away from her neck. He starts to step back, to give her space, but she tightens her grip, lowering their joined hands in front of her, between them. Her gaze drops to a piece of lint on his shirt. She wants to pick it off, but she doesn't want to let go.

"I've been going to therapy," she confesses, looking back at his face. "I had to go this summer to get cleared before I could come back to the precinct. But after that first case, when I froze, I went back, and I've been going ever since."

The words came out in a rush, but she can see the understanding in his eyes, so she knows he caught it all. She watches the play of emotions, the questions he has, what he's holding back.

"It's not easy, but it...helps. I see things more clearly. Dr. Burke gives me an outside perspective. He cares, but he's not...he's not involved in what's going on."

Castle nods. His expression is serious, listening. He observes her, as he has from the beginning, perhaps sensing that his continued silence makes it easier for her to let him in.

"I have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder," she says quietly, but there's no surprise on his face this time. He probably recognized the signs. Book research or something. Or maybe he just knows her. "I'm doing...better. Talking to Dr. Burke is good. And Esposito helped me some, helped me see things a little differently."

One side of his mouth quirks up, something like gratitude and affection flicking briefly through his eyes.

"But I still have, I don't know...moments or flashbacks or something. And nightmares sometimes, though I've had those for years."

He just nods again, still quietly waiting, maybe for a sign from her, though she's not sure what it would be. She just knows that he has to know, that she needs him to be certain before they can move forward from here.

"I get jumpy sometimes," she offers. "You've probably noticed that."

He starts to open his mouth but then closes it again, as if he might not be allowed to speak. When has that stopped him before though? She doesn't want that. She narrows her eyes.

"Hypervigilance," he appeases. "That's a pretty common symptom. And yeah, I've noticed. You've almost spilled your coffee a few times when a door has slammed. And I know how carefully you guard your coffee."

She's grateful, so grateful for his humor. He's not even smiling, no twinkle in his eye. But she knows, she knows - that little jab is his way of telling her everything will be okay. That they'll be okay.

"You were right," she says, and now, of course, his eyebrows do lift in surprise. "Last May, when you told me I had been hiding in my mother's murder and in relationships with men I didn't love."

Though he says nothing, makes no movement, she can see the flinch in his eyes, the flash of regret for the way he must know he hurt her. But she's being honest, and he was right.

"I want to be more," she murmurs. "I want to be happy."

He squeezes her hands gently, warmth and strength flowing through his grip.

"We'll figure it out," he promises.

She squeezes back, looking for doubt in his eyes. There's none to be found. But he has to know. He has to know everything.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice tight, ragged. "I'm...I'm broken, Castle."

He doesn't refute her, doesn't tell her she's unblemished or perfect or whole. And somehow that gives her hope. He's going into this with eyes wide open.

"I don't know how, and I don't know what we'll have to battle on the way," he says, untangling one of his hands to lift it up, pressing his palm flat against her chest, over her shirt, over the little round scar between her breasts. "But we'll figure it out."

She shudders under his touch, awed and stunned by his unswerving faith in her. In them. He dips his head, drawing her attention away from his hand and back to his eyes before he speaks again, his voice firm and yet filled with compassion.

"You're scared. It's okay. I am too."

A nod answers him.

"I'm terrified. I don't know where to go from here."

She hesitates, and then long fingers rise to graze his neck, his jawbone, her hand sliding back so her thumb can rub against the soft skin of his earlobe

"But Castle?" she whispers. "I don't want to hide anymore."

* * *

><p>No one needs to know<br>How scared we are tonight  
>Would you let me see the world behind your eyes?<p>

-Jon Foreman, "Behind Your Eyes"


End file.
